And I didn’t wanna write a song
‘Cause I didn’t want anyone thinking I still care. I don’t,
But you still hit my phone up
And, baby, I be movin’ on
And I think you should be somethin’ I don’t wanna hold back,
Maybe you should know that
My mama don’t like you and she likes everyone
– Justin Bieber
Every weekday, around 11:00 a.m., I swivel around in my big corporate chair and sigh.
Because I’m considerate, I typically give him a beat to finish typing. But if he doesn’t spin around to look at me in (what I consider to be) a timely manner, I sigh again… only this time slightly louder.
Sometimes, I just cut to the chase, “Hey, Ma-10. Wanna hear a story?” He’ll reluctantly agree, “Sure.” “Umm, can you turn and look at me? I can’t trust you’re listening when you aren’t looking at me.” I kick my feet up in my chair – sitting Indian style now. He has his elbows on his thighs – bracing himself for what’s to come.
Thursday, Story Time started with, “So, you know how I like my shows on the murder channel? Well, last night, on Web of Lies… get it… Web (*spirit fingers toward my double monitor) of Lies?” Ma-10 stopped me there. “Wait. Are you about to re-cap a television show?” “Yes. Yes I am.” Suddenly, he pushed back from his desk, flipped a switch on his chair, and said, “Then I should get locked in for this one.”
I love how he humors me.
Wednesday, I switched it up, “It’s Complaint Time!” I rattled off things I was unhappy about and Ma-10 pretended to be the Keeper of Complaints. Here’s how the conversation went:
- She Said: I want to ban SUVs/trucks from parking in our parking deck. The spaces are too small and I get overwhelmed trying to park beside a larger vehicle.
- He Said: Denied! That’s crazy. (… and maybe it is. Especially since we share the building with Boarder Patrol…) We can’t ban people from parking in the parking deck just because you can’t drive. (At which point, I challenged him to a parallel park-off.)
- She Said: My badge holder is broken. Something happened to it this morning and now it won’t retract. Look… (*holds up clip as high as arm will go and walks badge along the ground like a puppet)
- He Said: Denied. Just go down stairs and get a new one.
- She Said: But then I would have to walk allllll the way down stairs (one entire floor!). Hey! You like going down stairs (sometimes that crazy bastard runs up all 18 flights!)… why don’t you go get me one.
- He Said: No.
- She Said: Having to change my password.
- He Said: To what?
- She Said: Everything.
- She Said: I think it’s bullshit we don’t get spring break.
- He Said: First of all, no cursing in the Complaint Department. There may be children around.
- She Said: But he’s in the bathroom. (Our only other co-worker was MIA at that moment.) Whatever. I think it’s BS we don’t get spring break.
- He Said: Denied. You can use your PTO to do whatever you want. Take a week and go to Costa Rica and call it spring break.
- She Said: I spent all my extra monies on a 24-hour jaunt in L.A. :(.
- She Said: Okay. This one I KNOW you will like. Just why the heck can’t we have free biscuits ‘n gravy for breakfast every day?
- He Said: Yes. Approved.
- She Said: Yeah! I don’t want that lame ass fruit they put out. We want biscuits ‘n gravy! And we want hash browns too! And burritos… and…
- He Said: Nowwwww, you might be pushing it.
In other news, I’ve found more things to complain about. And since Ma-10’s not around (also, way too high-brow to spend any amount of free time slummin’ it on this filthy site) to play Complaint Keeper… you guys get to listen to me bitch incessantly about random stuff. So fun, right? Yay!
Ready. Set. Go!
- I have been sick more since I have moved out to California than I have ever been in my entire life. Ma-10 says I need to drink more water. You know what I say? I tell that H2O Nazi to zip it and fetch me more coffee.
- Which brings me to my next complaint: coffee. Why does it take six creamers and half a cup of sugar to make that shit taste good? Also, why do I feel like I have to sneak said six creamers every morning (true story, I really do use six creamers per cup of coffee) like some sort of dairy thief? Look, you judgey-black-coffee-drinking assholes, I like a teensy bit of coffee with my cream. Got it? And to be totally fucking honest, I’d like it a whole helluva lot better with espresso flavored vodka and Kaluha, buuuuuuut some people get their panties in a twist when you get wasted at work. So, I make do with the free “won’t get me fired” shit provided in the break room, ya dig?
- Taxes. That’s all. Just taxes.
- Actually, I take that back. That’s not all. Look, I don’t mind that the government siphons money out of my pay check every two weeks. I get it. I “owe” them for my freedom. Whatever. But goddamn it, don’t make me sit down once a year and study just how much money you took from me. Can’t you fuckers be like every other thief out there and just take my shit and run?
- Insurance. That’s all. Just insurance. No, for reals. That shit’s a fucking racket.
- Driving by a Mcdonald’s and seeing that “Breakfast faves anytime” sign. Why? Because nobody likes a GD McMuffin, that’s why.
- The asshole who declared 40-hour work weeks. Yeah. Not once have I seen that fucker’s name thrown up on a “This day in history” page…
- That shitty “I Took A Pill In Ibiza” song.
- People misrepresenting how “easy” their tutorials are on Pinterest. Does your recipe call for 43 ingredients? Do I need fucking saffron? An actual vanilla bean? Is it going to take me longer than 17 minutes? Will I have to make a special trip to a store other than Target? If you answered yes to any of the aforementioned questions… then get the fuck outta here with your fancy ass Martha Stewart shit. I don’t need this kind of pressure. They sell Hot Pockets downstairs all. damn. day. baby. Oh, and P.S., my hair would look like Elsa’s right now… if I had a goddamn origami master with a GoPro following my ass around all the time too.
- People getting all up in arms over the possibility of sharing a bathroom with someone of the opposite sex. I saw a comment from some woman recently: “I don’t want a man peeing in the stall right next to me!” I wanted to reply, “Fuck, lady. I don’t even want a woman peeing in the stall right next to me but you dumb bitches can’t seem to master the skip-a-stall rule. Shit happens.”
- Sonny not carrying his weight around the house. I work tirelessly to put food in that little nugget’s bowl. I take him on trips. I let him run around the courtyard – illegally off-leash – like a lunatic. I go out of my way to bring home exotic treats from near and far just to appease his salacious appetite. Yet, not once have I ever opened the door to a clean home, empty hamper, or home-cooked meal. No, sirree. How does that asshole show his appreciation, you ask? Incessant whining, faking illnesses, and leaving houndy hair in every nook ‘n cranny he can find. Oh, and to make matters worse, that ornery little bastard even takes his big front paw and knocks over his food bowl (a little trick he picked up at GrandNanny’s) when he feels he’s been slighted in the attention/affection/leftover/car ride department.
- The guys in our sales department who can’t throw… or catch.
- Bloggers who get a bajillion followers/free shit for no reason other than they’ve posted a cute outfit. #shallowmuch
- Rihanna. I know I’m going to catch mad hate for this one but: I was done with RiRi when that dumb pot-smokin’ whore tried to be all BFFs with Breezy after he fucked her face up in that limo a few years back. Domestic abuse is real. Some women (and men) don’t get an easy out like she had. Some feel stuck. They feel stuck in terrible situations because of children, finances, no support, etc. and they stay. She was absolutely not stuck. Respect trumps love every. single. day. people. And respect doesn’t break your face. Don’t make dumb decisions just because you love someone. Especially when you don’t have to… #friendsdontkicktheirfriendsass
- I have an addiction to reading the comments on internet articles/posts… and it pisses me off. People are so: disrespectful, ignorant, hateful, and mean. Why I even bother to scroll down is beyond me but I am truly flabbergasted by the gall of internet users every single day. No wonder we have so many enemies. How some get through life knowing they spew so much poison out into the universe is something I will never understand.
- Spending $85.00 in CVS.
- Women who yell. You give us a bad rap. Everyone at the pool wanted to call the cops and report a domestic dispute coming from your fourth floor apartment. Turns out, your ass had just gotten worked up over a round of fucking Mario Cart. Sit down, shut your mouth, quit flailing your goddamn arms, and find your fucking inside voice. It’s no wonder men think we’re all batshit crazy…
- People telling me to smile. Uhh, how’s about gettin’ tha frack off my back. Maybe I have nothing to smile about. Maybe I have that face condition where I can’t smile. Or maybe I’m just walking down the GD street and this is just my normal face. You don’t know me. #RBFstrikesagain
- The other day, when Katie, Stace, and I were getting ready to head up to L.A., I was whining. It was way too early for me (like, 6:00 a.m.!). So, naturally, I was my normal, emotional morning-self, “I juss wiiish I had a butler. ‘Cause then I’d be like, ‘Vincenzo, get me an ice water, please.'” That little comment turned into the beautiful explosion of hilarity that is #Vincenzo. We started bossing the imaginary Vincenzo around like it was nobody’s business. “Vincenzo, bring the car around.” “Vincenzo, I need my phone charger.” “Vincenzo, take the hound out, please.” “Vincenzo, could you gather all the boys and bring them to the yard, thanks.” (Might have just made that last one up…) Anywho, you’re probs wondering what the complaint here is… I need a butler, obviously. Also, never getting up before 8:00 a.m. again (mostly because it makes me want to vomit).
- Today, I was talking to Bubba on the phone. We were just shootin’ the shit, talking random stuff, when out of no where, “So, did you see that Tyler is back from India?” It took me a beat to process what he was asking. “Well hell no. And just how the fuck would I know Tyler is back from India, Blake?” “I don’t know,” he chuckled, “You knew he was in India before I did.” “Oh. Uhh. Humm. Maybe because – for whatever reason – dumb asses like you deem it necessary to keep me up-to-date on his comings and goings.” Look, here’s the deal: I’m just not one of those ex-girlfriends who cares what her ex-boyfriend is up to. We aren’t friends. I don’t care how he’s doing, where he’s been, or who he’s with. Is he alive? Great. And that’s about the extent of my curiosity. There’s a reason why I moved a whole 2,398.8 miles away from him – it didn’t end well. So, save us both the bit of awkwardness and just keep it a movin’. Also, I’m sure he’d probably appreciate it if all you #teamMC peeps kept my name out of your mouth when around him too. Not that I’m in the business of saving his feelings… but lets get real, who wants to hear about their hot, half-naked, hilarious ex-girlfriend frolicking around SoCal all the time? Not I, my friends. Not. I. #winning.